I file into a row of seats about halfway up, confronted by a cacophony of noisy students and the wildest collection of bakus I’ve ever seen in a single place.
Monkeys. Dogs. Cats. A small version of a bear.
All of them level 3 and above.
And hovering above a guy sitting right in the front row: an eagle.
I recognize that eagle.
His wings are outstretched so I can’t see the face that’s behind them, but I know it all too well. I purse my lips. The eagle doesn’t seem to have suffered any long-term damage from my pine cone throwing. He flaps his wings and soars up even higher. I wonder if the eagle senses me looking, because he spins his head so his dark mirrored eyes take me in, his gold-edged beak opening in a squawk. I quickly take a seat and stare at the back of the student in front of me.
Jinx crawls up on to my shoulder to get a better view of the action.
He licks his paw. >>Four hundred students entering, and counting.
‘Hey, nice baku. Is that a new model? I’ve never seen one like it before.’
The guy sitting next to me reaches out to touch Jinx, but Jinx darts away, clambering up my arm to sit on my shoulder away from the would-be petter. Do you have to be so unfriendly? I think to Jinx. To my relief, the guy laughs, revealing a neat row of shiny teeth.
‘A shy model, huh?’ He extends his hand to me. ‘I’m Jake. Jake Saunders. Third year Profectus.’
I take his hand. ‘Lacey Chu. Um . . . first year. And this is Jinx. Sorry he’s a bit . . . sensitive.’
‘No problem! This is my baku, Vegas.’ A calm-looking retriever model sits at his feet. ‘Vegas, send friend request.’
A notification pops up on Jinx’s paw, flashing it white.
>>JAKE SAUNDERS wants to be friends.
I click accept, and his profile spills out on to Jinx’s back. He’s a popular guy, with thousands of friends. ‘Vegas?’ I ask, raising an eyebrow.
‘Yep, you can pet him if you like! He won’t mind.’
I reach out and stroke the baku’s smooth metal body – he doesn’t have the individual strands of fur that Jinx does – and Vegas closes his eyes in a simulation of pleasure. He’s a lovely baku.
‘The name comes because I love a bit of in-school gambling.’ Jake winks at me.
‘Gambling? Is that legal?’
‘You’ll see,’ he says, before pressing his lips tightly together.
Before I can press him any further, the peripheral lights around the gymnasium dim, and the noise from the other students quietens in anticipation. It’s as if everyone is holding their breath.
>>Such drama, says Jinx, sarcasm dripping in his tone. I raise an eyebrow. I still can’t get used to the baku having such a . . . personality. Nothing I’d read about having a baku had prepared me for that.
Shh, I don’t want to miss anything.
There’s a hum of electric life and a hole opens up in the centre of the gymnasium floor. A beautiful snow-white owl baku flies up out of it, circling over the students’ heads, swiftly followed by a stern-looking woman in a sharp powersuit, who’s lifted up on a rising podium until she’s level with the middle row of seats.
Jinx buzzes with information.
>>Dr Sarah Grant, principal of Profectus, he informs me.
The principal leans her hands against the podium as her owl baku lands next to her, projecting her speech down in front of her. ‘Welcome, students, to another year at Profectus! And welcome especially to our incoming students. We’re delighted you’ll be joining our thriving community.
‘First things first, some legal business. If you look at your bakus, you will see I am sending you a link now, which you will use to receive your class schedule, hand in your school assignments, and report in for attendance.
‘By accepting the link please be aware that you are agreeing to the strict legal document you will have been sent over the summer. Those of you who bothered to read it will remember that part of this includes a watertight nondisclosure clause when it comes to some of the activities that you will participate in here at Profectus Academy. To be absolutely clear, this means you cannot talk about the activities you will participate in here, outside of the Academy. This is mandatory, so if you want to opt out then you have the option to leave now. Any leavers?’
She pauses to see if anyone will leave. But of course, no one does. There’s no way any of us would have come this far only to leave because of confidentiality clauses. We want to know what’s behind the curtain.
‘Good. Now that’s out of the way . . . No doubt many of you have been doing your research on the school online.’
There’s some nervous tittering of laughter from the other freshmen, including me – of course, I tried to find out absolutely everything that I could. There was not much to go on. Only report after report that Profectus was the toughest – and most rewarding – school around, and that it produced the absolute best scientists and engineers in the country.
‘Excellent. Now I know most of you will be itching to find out more about what makes life at Profectus so unique – and worth hiding behind such strict secrecy. But I’m not here to introduce that to you. Instead . . . we have a very special guest, straight from Moncha headquarters.’
Oh my God. My hands squeeze around Jinx’s body. What if it’s Monica Chan? What if it’s her in the flesh?
Jinx’s whole body shivers with anticipation, the metal strands of his fur standing up on end. I wonder if he is emulating my own excitement levels, which are sky-rocketing.
A spotlight swivels around to the main entrance of the gym. And there, half-hidden by light streaming in from behind him, is Eric Smith, Monica’s partner and second-in-command. Jinx deflates in my hands and I share some of his disappointment: I wanted it to be Monica herself. But having Eric Smith here is pretty cool too, even forgetting for a moment that he somehow raised someone as vile as Carter. It’s impossible not to feel a thrill at the sight of him – and his incredible baku. It’s a red panda, solemn and gorgeous, metal fur the colour of rust, wrapped around his shoulders almost like a scarf. There’s thunderous applause as he enters, his arms spread open wide.
He looks as if he is drinking it in. And I can’t help myself – I’m clapping as hard as everyone else.
Between Eric Smith and Monica Chan, life as we know it was revolutionized. They gave us bakus. Their names, their faces, are ingrained as part of our history – a history that I want to contribute to one day.
I might only be capable of adding a single word – maybe even just a letter – to the story. But I want to give something.
‘Ah, thank you, thank you,’ he says. He speaks softly, but his voice is amplified by his baku so we have no trouble hearing him. ‘I’m sorry you have me – and not Monica herself – she hates not being here – but she is away on overseas business at the moment. So for your orientation, you’ve got to settle for me.’ The crowd gives him an energetic round of applause, to show their appreciation for his visit.
Eric drinks in the applause, then holds up his hands. ‘You all are the best of the best – if not, you wouldn’t be sitting here today. If you would indulge me – especially returning students, who would have seen this before, I have a short presentation for you – and then, I promise, we will get on to the good stuff.’
The lights dim again and screens lower from the rafters in the ceiling. The image on the screens flicker, as if the movie were being played from an old-fashioned reel.
A voiceover talks us through the history of robotics as we know it – from the very first automatons in the medieval ages through to the bakus of today. Images play of those initial designs: purely mechanical objects of cogs, bolts and springs, designed to instil wonder – and sometimes, fear.
I swallow, thinking of Jinx. Fear and robotics have often walked hand in hand – and for good reason. Fear of robots taking human jobs, of an intelligence explosion where robots become smarter than humans, of passing the Turing Test and reaching the po
int where they are able to harm us of their own free will. Asimov’s Three Laws becoming overturned, obsolete.
But it took Monica Chan to really think about robots in a different way.
She didn’t understand why robots needed to look like humans. The ‘uncanny valley’ – the phrase that describes the unsettled feeling people have around a machine that looks human but isn’t – was something she understood all too well. She couldn’t imagine wanting to live with something that appeared human in every way, except with only electronic life behind their eyes. Not only that, but from an engineering point of view, building a robot that could walk smoothly on two legs was incredibly challenging and inefficient. That’s when the baku idea was born.
An animal design offered what people wanted – companionship, convenience, assistance, easy maintenance – and yet it wasn’t so creepy. Quickly after their launch, the baku became an integral part of everyday modern life. Another Moncha slogan – Accompanying you to your happiest life ever – became reality.
The movie flies on. Despite the fact that I am already a Moncha-fan through and through, I find myself swept away in the emotion of Monica’s rise and rise. Watching the film puts a grin on my face. Monica’s journey is a tale I’ve heard so many times it is practically a bedtime story for me. A fairytale, but not of princes and frogs, ballgowns and pumpkins, but of makers and metal, of wire and ingenuity and inspiration and creativity and invention.
The video is immersive, spinning us over the city of Toronto. There are images of bakus scaling the CN Tower, showing off how seamlessly they have been incorporated into all aspects of life – from the city traders using their pigeon bakus to trade messages, joggers running along the waterfront with their dog bakus projecting their route and updating them on speed, people on restaurant patios, talking to each other rather than looking at their phones, while never missing a beat with their social media updates thanks to their bakus.
Then it focuses in on one of Monica’s main aims for the bakus. On a young woman who is about to go up for a presentation in front of a huge audience, her heart beating wildly, her eyes closed but her breaths sharp and shallow. Her fists clench and unclench. She wants to leave, to throw up, to be finished, to be anywhere else. Then her baku leaps into her arms, and within a few moments of stroking his metallic fur, she feels calm. She feels ready. And she takes the stage and smashes it out of the park.
The woman? Monica Chan herself, the baku managing to relieve her not only of her smartphone addiction, but of some of her anxieties.
I think of the other bakus I’ve known in my life, and what an impact they’ve had on the people closest to me. The truth is, Petal makes Mom smile – knows what videos she wanted to watch when she was down, what music to listen to to calm her down, what podcasts to play so that she could feel smart and be better at her job.
A line from the voiceover snaps me out of my daydream: ‘And simply, the final goal of Moncha Corp: to make life better. And to make people happier.’
The screens fade to black and the lights come up. Eric Smith has moved so that he is now on the podium with Dr Grant. ‘And now, today, I’m here to ask you what you see for the future of Moncha Corp. Are you ready to join the next generation of companioneers, mechanics, programmers, designers and coders who are going to take bakus to the next level? Now that we are reaching a point in time where almost every adult has chosen their baku, their companion, we need to keep asking ourselves the question – how can we keep on accompanying people to their happiest lives ever? We want to make sure that everyone is achieving their peak happiness.’
Eric Smith is the epitome of comfortable. Relaxed. His hands drop into his pockets and he smiles down at all of us as if we were part of his family. ‘Yes, I know. Can simple engineering make people happy? We have a team of psychologists and philosophers looking into this, but really it’s people like you – the makers of the future – who are going to transform the ways we live our lives in ways we never knew. Ways we could never have imagined. I’m excited by what you have to offer. By how you will inspire us.
‘I’m sure you’ve heard plenty of stories about Profectus, and the incredible technology that you will have access to while you are here. But forget everything you’ve ever heard. Because Moncha is in the business of staying one step ahead. And I bet you’re wondering how we move innovation forward at Profectus?’
Shivers of anticipation dance down my spine as he talks. There’s a rumble from the older students and it feels as if the crowd leans forward as one entity, sweeping me forward with it. I catch sight of Tobias in the front row. He’s leaning back, his arms folded across his chest, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Four other seniors next to him are the same – an island of calm in an ocean of anticipation.
I wonder what they know that we don’t.
I don’t have to wait long to find out.
‘I’m delighted to open this season of Baku Battles.’
The roar that shakes the gymnasium is almost deafening.
ERIC SMITH SPREADS HIS ARMS AND THE gym transforms before my very eyes.
The shiny, laminated oak flooring flickers once, twice, then turns bright white. The older students are hooting and hollering, stamping their feet, adding earthquake-like vibrations.
>>Where are they going?
Jinx flicks his tail in the direction of Tobias and four other seniors who file out of the gym. But I don’t have much time to wonder about that. I’m too busy being dazzled by the tech on display. The floor begins to . . . split open, is the only way that I can describe it, around the podium where Dr Grant and Eric Smith are standing. It shifts, moves, unfurls, panels I didn’t realize were panels folding on top of each other, revealing a deep doughnut-shaped arena, with the podium at the very centre of it. The column-like podium is wallpapered in screens, and at clock-like intervals on the floor are five silver rings. Along with everyone else in my class, I lean forward, craning my neck to see into the pit. The rings flash and spin, opening like manhole covers. The five senior students I saw leaving are lifted up into the arena, their bakus appearing in front of them.
Tobias is lifted up almost directly beneath me. I can see the curly tips of his short black hair and the golden head of his eagle baku.
I can’t see his face, so I look to the screen, which is showcasing the different students’ faces one by one. Tobias still has that easy grin on his face, as if he is totally confident in what is about to happen.
The next face to flash up is captioned ‘Gemma’. In contrast to Tobias’s calm appearance, she looks fierce, her copper-bright hair tied back in a long plait, an impressive tiger baku pacing at her feet. The others are introduced: Dorian, Pearce and Elektra. All the seniors have the same aura of barely contained excitement, a mix of confidence and aggression simmering under the surface.
Eric Smith speaks again. ‘Let me first say a special thanks to our team captains – for putting their bakus on the line for this demonstration. The outcomes here will have no bearing on the battles themselves – they will officially start at the end of this month, as per usual. But, as always, my advice is the same – battle to win.’
Tobias rolls his shoulders back, cricking his neck from side to side in an attempt to loosen up the tension. I feel tense as well, my knuckles white as I grip the bench by my side to lean forward and get as close to the action as possible. A Baku Battle. I never thought it would be possible. It shouldn’t be: bakus are programmed not to fight.
>>Look at his wing, Jinx says. And her paw.
I try to see what Jinx is referring to. And then I catch it: a little gold circle attached to all the bakus. Maybe that’s what overrides the code that prevents one baku from attacking another in the real world.
‘Players, play to win. You have thirty minutes. And so . . . begin.’
Dr Grant’s owl baku releases a piercing screech and the teams are off.
The preamble is so short – there’s no ready, steady, go. Tobias immediately makes a hit
on Dorian’s snarling wolf baku, his eagle stretching his talons out, wings spread wide to keep him hovering – and to enable a quick getaway from the wolf’s surprisingly high jump.
The eagle makes short work of the wolf, one of his talons snaring a key wire from behind its neck and rendering it useless in less than thirty seconds.
I clutch Jinx tightly to my chest. The bakus in front of my eyes are being torn apart, their wires shredded, bodies mangled by metal claws and teeth and talons. There are no yelps of pain but there are electronic whines and the agonized cries of the fighting students. When their baku is pronounced ‘dead’, the student’s face goes grey on the screen.
Within a matter of minutes, the only faces that are illuminated are those of Gemma and Tobias. They look utterly serious now, all trace of previous bravado and play gone. All they can focus on is winning. The eagle flaps his wings, the tiger prowls on the arena floor, their eyes lifted and locked in each other’s gaze. There’s highwire excitement all around the gymnasium as we wait to see who is going to be the final winner. My heart is thumping inside my chest. If this is what it means to baku battle, I am equal parts thrilled and appalled.
The lights turn up, flooding the stage in a bright white glow, and I recoil, throwing my arm in front of my eyes. I’m not the only one. Almost everyone groans, so caught up in the action that the bright light is like being forced awake from a riveting dream. Tobias and Gemma freeze, their bakus turning their attention to the centre of the room. This would be the moment to strike, I think. If someone wanted to win.
Tobias and Gemma have almost the exact same thought at the exact same time. There’s a flurry of movement on both sides, but a buzzer sounds – and a clock on the jumbotron reaches 0:00. I hadn’t even noticed the countdown, I’ve been so engrossed in the battle.
Eric Smith’s voice rings out above the thunderous applause. ‘Congratulations, Tobias Washington and Gemma Morris. You are the joint winners of this Baku Battle demonstration. You can stand down your bakus.’
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